Evil Heights, Book II: Monster in the House

by Michael Swanson

  "How you doin’ there Flapjack?” Lee asked kneeling down.

  Flapjack responded by rooting his bill up under Lee's shirt, going for the belly button and backing Lee up against the house. Lee grabbed the duck's neck and pulled his head out from under his shirt. “Cut it out. That tickles.” He looked the duck squarely in one eye. “Okay, that's how it's going to be, huh? You wanna play?"

  For the next little while, Lee honked his best duck quack, flapped his arms with his hands tucked in his armpits like wings, and boy and duck took turns chasing each other all over the yard. Patty must have heard the commotion, because she came running out of the back door and joined in the fun. Soon it was a free for all. Lee's raucous honks, mixed with the real thing and Patty's tin whistle shrieks and giggles, brought Maggie to the window where she could only smile at the silly backyard scene.

  Tired as he was, Lee gave up first, and was left sitting in the grass as Flapjack made good his escape from a hotly pursuing Patty. The duck was stout, but Patty, if she could catch him, liked to wrap her arms around his thick neck and drag him to the ground and give him a thorough squeezing. For this reason, Patty rarely could get within ten feet of Flapjack if Lee wasn't around.

  Flapjack ended the fun by flying up into the Mimosa tree near the fence. The tree was full of the peculiar red and yellow fluffy blossoms and only looked odder with a big white duck perched up in its branches, still excitedly quacking for all it was worth. Patty ambled back, breathing heavily, her face sweaty and bright red.

  "He got away,” she puffed.

  Lee let himself fall backward into the grass. He was looking up at the cloudless, blue sky when Patty appeared in his field of vision, standing over him splayed out in the grass.

  "Good thing for Flapjack. He's not such a dumb duck,” Lee replied. “You'd squeeze the stuffing out of him."

  Patty's answer was to step on Lee's stomach, balancing for a second, then she took off for the house, shrieking peals of laughter and running for her life.

  Lee was off the ground in a flash, leaving an outline pressed in the grass like a mashed green snow angel. Before Patty was twenty feet from the door he had her. Catching his sister up and flipping her over to grab a leg and an arm, he spun her round and round as fast as he could, using her weight to help maintain his balance. Patty's response was to let loose with a continuous scream and stick her free arm and leg out so she could soar like a jet airplane.

  The world became a blur as the spinning took its toll. Lee began to stagger as he twirled, and finally had to stop before he lost control and someone got hurt. Dizzy almost to sickness, he wobbled drunkenly, gently letting his sister down in the grass before collapsing.

  Patty tried to get up, but stumbled like a drunk, and fell back to lie next to her brother. Her orange and white top was rolled up just above her puffed out tummy and her pink shorts were twisted sideways around her waist.

  "Why'd you stop?” she complained weakly.

  The world was swimming. Lee lay back in the cool grass and closed his eyes. That wasn't a good idea. The dizziness closed in with a terrible ferocity weaving figure eights in his brain. He opened his eyes, preferring to watch the sky spin crazily above.

  "You want me to get sick?” he asked.

  "But it's sooo fun."

  Lee luxuriated in the cool feel of the grass while he waited for the sky to settle down.

  Patty rolled over and managed to sit up woozily. “You're the best brother,” she said with all the temporary sincerity of a six-year-old.

  Lee worked his way up to a sitting position and shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “Do you think there's any of those Bullets left in the freezer, squirt? Or did you eat ‘em all?"

  Patty's eyes got wide. With no warning she sprang up and ran towards the door. “Race ya!"

  She beat him in, as they were too close to the back door for him to make up the distance in the short space. Catching her at the door, he grabbed her by the shoulders. With Patty screaming in delight they came through the laundry room. Rushing in, they found Maggie glaring at them from in front of the T.V.

  "What in heaven's name?” she yelled. “You two sound like a bunch of wild Indians."

  "Popsicle,” Lee said trying to sound like an Indian. “We ums want Popsicle."

  "Me um, too!” Patty pealed.

  Maggie scowled. “Okay, just cut out all the screaming. Can't you see I'm trying to watch my story?"

  Lee opened the freezer and got out the last two, leaving the empty box where it was. He put the two Popsicles behind his back. “Which one you want?"

  Patty tagged his right shoulder.

  Lee held out the orange one.

  "I wanted red."

  "You choose, you lose,” he came back with a grin.

  Patty snatched the Popsicle and then stuck out her tongue.

  Lee made like he was going to grab it between his thumb and forefinger.

  Patty ran for her mother.

  "Is it time for Lucky Pup?” Patty asked clutching the side of the chair Maggie was sitting in.

  "Shhh. Just about."

  "I'm going to go get cleaned up,” Lee said passing by.

  "I think that'd be a good idea.” Maggie didn't take her eyes off the screen. “Now you two let me be."

  Patty pulled her Popsicle from her mouth and stuck her tongue out at her brother, waggling her right hand at him with her thumb stuck in her ear.

  Lee stopped at the entrance to the hall and grinned, then mouthed to his sister silently “I got the red one. I got the red one.” By her carbon copy of Maggie's scowl he could tell Patty might not be too good with her reading her “Dick and Jane” primers, yet, but she was hell on wheels when it came to reading lips.

  Lee sat on the edge of his bed and sucked at the sweet, red Popsicle. He kicked off his shoes one by one without untying them, letting them flip end-over-end into his pile of dirty clothes in the corner of the room between the wall and the roll top desk.

  He had to hurry with the Popsicle as it was melting almost as fast as he could slurp on it. Getting a good grip with his lips on the last of it, he pulled it off the stick. Now he had to hurry before the thing gave him an ice cream headache. Keeping his head up and mouth open to work the last icy chunk around he sucked down the sharp, cold juice until only the sweet, lingering taste remained.

  Lazily, he got up off the edge of the bed and dropped the stick atop the others he was saving. On the edge of the desk, he had almost a dozen other dried Popsicle sticks all stuck together in a jumble. There were untold things a fourteen-year-old boy could do with a bunch of Popsicle sticks.

  Finally, he peeled off his shirt and threw it on top of his shoes. Before taking off his pants, he fished from the pocket the crumpled, brown envelope and flopped back down on the bed. The envelope was sealed and taped, so he tore it open on the side. Squeezing it so it opened, just like he'd often seen his dad do with bills that came in the mail, he upended it and shook out a pile of green bills and a folded note. Right off, he counted the money. There were eight crisp five-dollar bills and one ten.

  "Fifty dollars. Wow!” he said out loud. “She must've made a mistake."

  He folded open the creased note. It was written on a yellow, lined ledger paper. In a delicate script adorned with flourishes and fine lines like the Coca-Cola logo, Mrs. Ballard had made her accounting. Centered at the very top was the date: June 16th, 1960, below that it read: “Invoice for gardening services.” Below that, neatly penned in the same flourished script, was an entry for each day he had worked, and the amount of five-dollars was noted to the side of each date. The total, above the fine double line at the bottom read: “Forty dollars.” Finally, below this was written: “Additional ten dollars for services above expectations.” It was signed in the prettiest of scripts: “Petunia Ballard."

  "Wow!” Lee said again, holding up the extra bill. “A tip!"

  He carefully folded the money, separating the ten from the fives and placed it into one of the cubb
ies in the roll top's intricately partitioned interior. Then, he put the note in the upper right drawer. When he opened it, the glass eye rolled back, hitting the back of the drawer then rebounded back into view.

  Lee picked it out and held it up under the light to admire the smooth roundness and deep, sparkly color of the imitation iris. Not a day had gone past since he found the thing that he hadn't taken it out and at least rolled it around in his palm. Something about the smoothness of it was alluring and very addictive; the same, yet so different from any marble or ball bearing. It felt harder and cold, even colder than the ambient air. Mr. Perkins, who owned the ice cream parlor next to the movie theatre, claimed his marble slab counter was always a few degrees cooler than the air's temperature around it. The eye made his fingertips feel so strange to hold it. The hardness was incredible, almost compelling, when squeezed. The effect of touching it would linger, even long after he had put it down. Minutes after having touched it he could still feel its smooth weight against his fingertips.

  He turned it so that he could look straight into the iris. It was dark in there. Deep down through the foggy glass it clutched at him. There was that smell. The hot, hot frying grease, the musty, dead library, old, moldy books, sour, stale used up air, you could go down through that glass iris, in the hollowness there was truly something there. This eye had seen things, things that would leave an impression on even a piece of stone or glass. There was a sword. The heft of the hilt in his hand was soothing. He hated to ever let it go. Steel was meant to slice through flesh. The feel of it when it struck bone was electric, compelling, addictive.

  Lee snapped out of it, coming back to himself just as he had earlier in the afternoon standing in the sun and looking up at that window, second from the left. He was gripping the eye between his thumb and two fingers. He was squeezing. His mouth was dry. The lingering taste of Popsicle was sticking to his tongue and teeth. He suddenly realized how thirsty he was. He almost looked back, down into that blackness, but his throat was so dry.

  He wrapped it up into his palm and gave it one long, hard squeeze. Now though, he was in dire need of a shower and a drink. He dropped the eye back in the drawer amongst his other assorted special treasures. In there was a pen knife with rough wooden grips he had found in a gutter, a silvery ring with a watery blue, diamond-shaped glass “diamond” that he'd gotten as a prize in an iron claw machine, a crumpled love note given to him in the fifth grade from Darla Bates which she had signed with a smeary red kiss using her mother's lipstick, and a slightly scratched but readable “I like Ike” campaign button he'd found outside the school auditorium after the last presidential election. This and other bits and pieces of junk were the prized memorabilia that made up the fourteen years of his life.

  Sticking his head out around the door, Lee checked up and down the hallway to see that it was clear. Then wearing just his underwear and carrying his fresh clothes, Lee jumped across the hall into the bathroom and quickly locked the door. For a long time he just stood in the shower, with only the cold water turned on, letting it flow into his parched mouth. It seemed he couldn't drink enough it was so cool and sweet. When at last he was done, he stepped out, toweled dry, and got dressed. Walking down the hall, his bare feet still left tracks on the hardwood. Feeling renewed and maybe even a little light headed he fairly fell into his favorite chair.

  "Mom!” Patty complained without even looking back at her brother. She had her new stuffed dog crushed under her arm and her feet tucked up under Indian style. “Lucky Pup's not on!"

  "Did you check the time?” Maggie called out from the kitchen.

  Lee looked up at the clock. It read 4:35.

  "Should be on, Mom,” he called out. “This is when it was on the other day."

  Maggie came out of the kitchen wiping her doughy hands on a dishtowel. She'd obviously been working on dumplings and had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Her face was sweaty, and one tress of hair had fallen down and was stuck to her sweaty cheek. Checking the clock she shrugged. “I don't know Patty. If it's not on you'll just have to watch something else."

  Lee sat up eagerly. “Is Dad coming home on time?"

  "He hasn't called to say anything about working late.” Maggie used her thumb to scoot the irritating strand of hair back behind her ear, leaving a stripe of dough across her cheek. “So I expect him home."

  Patty twisted the channel knob back and forth. “Mom, it's not on!"

  "Then just watch something else,” Maggie snapped. She went back into the kitchen then called out. “You think I have control over the T.V.?"

  Lee looked back up at the clock. It read 4:36. The second hand was moving so he knew it was working. He sat up a little higher in the chair to get a better look out at the driveway. Stretching, he could see across the street. Phoebe was out in the Riley's front yard with little Evie!

  "Hey Mom!’ he yelled to the kitchen. “I'm going outside."

  "Don't you go too far.” Maggie called back. “Dinner'll be ready about five thirty."

  Patty had gotten up on her knees in front of the television, and with Lucky Pup still in a headlock under her arm, she was now carefully twisting the channel knob ever so gently slightly from side to side, a trick she had learned from their previous television.

  Lee opened the door and looked back over his shoulder at the clock. 4:37.

  With a metallic tink, the light bulb in the table lamp by the couch winked out.

  Patty looked away from the television screen and frowned at the darkened lampshade. Lee made eye contact with Patty, and gave her an “It wasn't me, so why should I care,” shrug.

  Just as the screen door slammed he heard Patty squeal, “Lucky Pup!"

  Lee found it difficult to just walk across the street. He felt self conscious, as if the guys from school were all standing around watching. He stuffed his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and scuffed his PF Flyers in the gravel, looking everywhere except where he was heading.

  "Hi,” Phoebe said when he finally got there.

  "Hi.” Lee momentarily made eye contact then looked back down at his sneakers. “Whatcha doin'?"

  "Takin’ a break.” Phoebe stretched her arms up above her head; her fingers knotted together, palms up. “I been bustin’ my butt all morning cooking and cleaning. I though I'd come out and see if the sun really still was shining."

  Lee looked up from his shoes, letting his eyes catch a quick look. She was wearing a front-buttoned sleeveless white shirt with wide lapels around the open neck. And when she brought her arms down, Lee caught a glimpse of the edge of her bra through the armhole. Suddenly flustered, he swallowed and gave his attention to Evie.

  The little girl was off playing by herself near the end of the driveway. Wearing only a blue, bibbed pair of shorts with no shirt or anything else, she reminded Lee somewhat of the girl portrayed by the statue in the Ballard's rose garden, only obviously younger. She had a stick and was standing up on one foot, attempting to reach up to the top of the rusty barrel by the side of the drive to splash out some water. A little water would have done her some good as a few stands of her stringy hair were stuck into a dried blob of lunch or breakfast on her cheek.

  Phoebe put her arms straight down but kept her fingers cradled together swinging her hands gently side to side above her knees. “So what you been up too?"

  "I've been working over at Cherry Heights.” Lee turned slightly to point off towards the direction of the Ballard house. The house wasn't visible from here, being blocked from view by the trees lining the edge of his front yard. He then held up his hands, twisting them front to back, so she could see all the red scratches and tears from the rose thorns.

  "Oooh.” Phoebe's eyes widened. She reached out and took Lee's hands in her own. “You poor thing."

  The genuine tenderness in her eyes was so disarming. And the feel of her fingers touching his caused a sudden dry hitch in his throat he had to swallow back.

  She turned his hands over to look at the palms. �
�What'd you been doing, juggling broken glass?"

  Lee shrugged. His palms were worse than the backs of his hands as they had blisters to go along with the scratches.

  "Well,” she said with a motherly tsk-tsk-tsk, “It looks like you've been puttin’ up a barbed wire fence without wearing any gloves."

  "Gardening.” Lee spoke up, but still couldn't look her in the eye. “I've been working on the rose bushes out back of the Ballard house."

  Phoebe still hadn't let go; she was rubbing her thumbs softly over his knuckles. “You should put something on those cuts, at least some iodine. You could get an infection."

  "I guess,” Lee mumbled. Her hands were so soft. There simply was something so different about girls’ hands.

  Evie had stretched to reach up, standing on her tiptoes, and had gotten her hand up into the barrel, managing to splash out a good bit of water all over herself.

  "Evie!” Phoebe released Lee's hands and ran over to grab the little girl by the back straps of her overall bib and drag her back.

  Evie responded by shrieking and flailing at the air with her stick.

  "Cut it out,” Phoebe hollered back. “You're making a mess."

  Lee still thought a little bit of water would probably do the little girl some good. She was pretty dirty, but he didn't say anything.

  The moment Phoebe let her go; Evie spun to take a swing at Phoebe, but when she missed she just redirected herself and lurched back toward the rain barrel.

  Phoebe ended it by grabbing the stick away and flinging it into the brush on the other side of the drive.

  Evie's response was to fall flat on her butt and began shrieking bloody murder, her face a picture of blind rage as she kicked with her feet and beat the grass with her fists.

  Ignoring her, Phoebe walked back to Lee. “I'm telling you, I just about can't take it anymore. That's about the brattiest child I ever seen."

  Lee noticed Phoebe's red shorts were splotched from splashes, and some water in a rivulet was running down her thigh. Trying to not let Phoebe see he'd been looking at her legs, Lee held up his hands again. “I think I'd rather replant rose bushes myself."